Page 53 of The Wrong Side of the Law

“I’ll be okay,” she says, trying to look fierce as she declines. “I have mace in my bag. And I have my keys.”

She digs in her purse, pulling out a set of keys with a flat, rainbow-colored plastic whistle, designed to deafen airline passengers overhead if she uses it to call for help.

“It’s no trouble at all,” I say, offering her my arm and walking to the door once she reluctantly accepts it. “Besides, I parked at work, too. I have a few things left to do tonight.”

“Wait, what?” Emily stops short, and our linked arms spin me around to face her. “It’s- seriously, Gabriel, it’slate. Do you ever take time off? Take an evening just for yourself and relax?”

For a heartbeat I think Emily’s going to throw my own advice back in my face and ask why I don’t just take a step back and let things settle out, but she doesn’t.

“I get plenty of time for self-care,” I tell her. “I sleep at least three hours a night. Four, sometimes.”

I let her see a crooked grin, one that Harrison Ford in his prime couldn’t have bested. She doesn’t question it, but her eyes narrow with doubt.

At least she doesn’t probe any deeper. I have taken some time off to relax, tonight. We may have talked shop for a bit, but just spending a couple hours outside the office with Emily Wilson—confusing as she is—was enough to give me as much of a recharge as I need, tonight.

Outside the bar, it’s well past sundown, and a cold rain has set in.

I’m good at conversation. I can run the table when it comes to talking without getting anywhere close to revealing—or even confronting—things that truly matter on a personal level. But here and now, thunder and lightning make it nearly impossible to talk, even though the rain forces us to huddle close together under the too-small shelter of Emily’s umbrella. The gap in conversation and the proximity of this woman are leaving me nothing but introspection.

It felt good tonight, spending time with someone else. Talking, but not about work. Or notjustabout work.

Emily’s right: I am too wrapped up in my work. I’m a ten, at work. Okay, maybe not a solid ten, but my professional life is at a nine, at least. My personal life, on the other hand? A two, at best.

Tonight has been a reminder of old wounds, of an empty spot that I thought I’d long since plastered over and would never have to see again. I didn’t do as good a patch job as I’d thought.

I can’t blame Dorothy for leaving me. In truth, it’s hard even to say that it was even her who left: every single day, I put the job first. My responsibilities to the people of the state of Florida were my first priorities, and she came in at a very distant second.

“You’ve drifted off again,” Emily says. We’re at the parking garage already, and she’s shaking rain off her umbrella, but one-handed: she’s still holding on to my arm. “What’s going on in there?” she asks.

There’s a raindrop hanging off the tip of her nose, and when I reach up to wipe it away, Emily’s eyes close and she leans almost imperceptibly forward into my touch.

“Nothing important,” I say. “Just was reminded of someone I used to know, that’s all.”

“The good old days, huh?”

“Yeah, something like that,” I answer. “Back when dinosaurs still roamed the Earth.”

“Thank you,” Emily says. “For dinner. For walking me to my car. For… everything.”

Emily doesn’t let go of me immediately, holding both my arm and my eyes for a span of what feels like hours. She looks up at me from under wet eyelashes, her lips just slightly parted.

Even when I begin to extract my arm, she holds tight on to me for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” I say.

Watching Emily drive off in her white Volkwagen, I consider the shitty repair job I’d done over that empty spot. It’s been a few years, now. Maybe it’s time to chip away the quick patch and try to build something new in its place?

What would it be like to have someone to come home to, again? But, not just anyone. Someone like Emily: someone smart, someone beautiful. Someone loyal.

But then again, I’m being unfair. Dorothy was all those things, and I still gave her up for… what? For my career?

There are some major differences, though.

Emily understands what I do, and why I do it. How important it is, not just for me but for our community as well.

The other difference is even bigger: no matter how busy I am, no matter how pressed for time I get, when she’s around, I can’t focus completely on anything else.

* * *

---